


The Thing About Mirkwood

by Carlandrea



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, I just really love these weird funky party elves, Mirkwood, just unapologetic mirkwood stanning, that's all that happens, that's what its about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27026443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carlandrea/pseuds/Carlandrea
Summary: There is a circle of light in Mirkwood.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	The Thing About Mirkwood

There is a circle of light in Mirkwood. There, a bonfire flickers, warm and high and bright, and lanterns, strung from trees, pulse steadily in tune with the music. The lanterns will stay lit as long as the song keeps playing.

The song plays through the night. 

In the circle of light, there seems to be no sign of the deathly silence outside. The Wood-elves dance. They spin, whirling ever closer together, and then apart, laughing, singing. Some strange instrument wails in defiance, and the elves keen in answer, a high, harsh melody that spins ever faster, and faster, and as the song speeds up, and the drums beat faster, the lanterns glow ever brighter. 

The thing about Mirkwood is that the darkness is always there, even at the heart of the circle, even besides the fire, where the dance is so fast and so close that your minds bleed together, even when the lanterns outshine the stars- the darkness is still there. 

Every elf carries at least a knife. Their nails are filed to points, blood crusted beneath them. The ornately carved platters are shields, and the music-

The music plays through the night

It must, it must play until the sun rises and a new day is born, because if it stops- 

The thing about Mirkwood is that sometimes the music stops, in an instant, and the lanterns are extinguished. The darkness is always there, and sometimes it rears out of the shadows around the circle of light, and it attacks. 

The music stops. The lanterns go out. 

The wood-elves freeze. Every elf carries at least a knife. 

The thing about Mirkwood is that sometimes the sun rises, greeted by silence and exhaustion, and the attackers, whatever they are, are dead, and sometimes, in Mirkwood, they are not the only ones. 

Sometimes the next feast- the next circle of light in a dark, endless forest- will be a funeral. There will be music and merriment. There will be a wailing song of defiance. The music will play through the night.


End file.
